Stuck.

deep in our Winter 

we remain suspicious 

as we watch our breath lift

and fade into cold,

one which is dry and bitter 

embracing us,

leaking through our layers 

grafting onto our bones

they are warning us  

there is a storm coming 

five to ten inches, 

gusts of up to thirty mph

negative seventeen

with wind chill, 

drifting will be an issue

we giggle, sure, a storm

but we flock to the grocery

for butter, milk, eggs, toilet paper 

scurrying,

rats in a research maze

you won't be coming up tonight

God forbid you get stuck here